


Together

by AgentCoop



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bar Room Brawl, Cigarettes, Eventual Smut, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hurt Neil Josten, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Protective Andrew Minyard, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: Love was supposed to be tangible–a thing of expression, a moment of touch or tenderness, a softly spokenI love you.Andrew didn’t love anything–that was a word that didn’t exist in his vocabulary.Sometimes, though, he didn’thateNeil.Dangerous.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 260





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> I am oozing Andreil angst from my eyeballs. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Comments and kudos mean the world to me <3 <3

Eden’s was packed for the weekend–sticky drinks pushed across sticky surfaces while sticky bodies writhed in chaos on the dance floor–and Andrew watched it all with casual disinterest . Somewhere below, Nicky and Aaron were dancing. Somewhere behind him, Kevin was passed out drunk. Here, Neil was surrounded by Exy fans who were enthusiastically nodding along as Neil spouted facts, and statistics, and plays at junkie lightening speed. Andrew had no interest in talking stickball, so he wandered back to the other side of the bar and ordered another drink.

Roland pushed a glass full of whiskey towards him and looked at Neil, eyebrows raised.

“Your boy made friends.”

“Not my boy,” Andrew said. He downed the drink and pushed it back for another, which Roland quickly refilled.

“Right,” Roland grinned.

Andrew rolled his eyes and took the glass this time, purposely walking back to the table they’d claimed when they first arrived.

Kevin was sprawled across it, empty drink glasses lined up in a careful outline of his arms and shoulders in hopes that when he woke up, he’d scatter them all in the sort of resounding crash that Nicky and Aaron found hilarious.

Andrew found it less amusing, but he was also bored, so he sank down into a chair, did nothing to help, and kept his eyes on Neil.

The group had grown even larger. One of the girls had a hand laid against Neil’s arm, and Andrew watched her laugh at something Neil said, just a little too big, just a little too long.

Neil had no idea what she was doing, and it made it all the more amusing to watch him blink in confusion at her, and then keep right on talking.

Kevin groaned, and Andrew watched him push himself up from the table with an impossible grace, somehow managing to not disturb a single glass.

“Good there?”

Kevin just flicked a hazy look at him, then wobbled off his chair in search of more alcohol.

Which left Andrew alone.

He didn’t mind.

He didn’t think he minded.

He…

Andrew blinked and took a long swallow of whiskey. Off by the bar, both Nicky and Kevin had joined the drunken group around Neil. Nicky was gesticulating wildly about something, another two girls had sidled up on Kevin’s sides, a guy with a bright orange PSU baseball hat was leaning over the bar and waving Roland over for drinks, the girl on Neil’s arm rose up on the balls of her feet and whispered something in his ear–

Suddenly Nicky was on the ground, Kevin was pushing some guy back, Neil hauled off and punched someone, and the entire bar area devolved into complete chaos.

Andrew shot out of his chair, pure liquid anger coursing through his veins, but by the time he’d thrown himself across the room, Eden’s bouncers were already there pulling guys apart.

“He’s fine,” Roland called to Andrew, stepping out from behind the bar and holding a hand up just shy of pushing Andrew back.

“Move.”

“He’s fine, they’re all fine, just take a deep breath and turn around.”

“Not asking you again, Roland.”

Roland crossed his arms and looked down at Andrew, unmoving, unwavering, and thoroughly unimpressed. Behind him, Neil leaned against the bar, Kevin swayed drunkenly on his feet, and Nicky pushed himself up from the floor.

Swallowing around a mouthful of pure venom, Andrew grit his teeth hard enough to hurt, and finally settled for clenching his fists tightly at his sides before giving a small nod.

Roland was right, because Roland was always right.

Not worth it.

Bouncers started escorting a couple of guys away, guy with the orange hat was mumbling ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” most of the girls had backed up except for one who had wrapped herself back around Kevin like Kevin fucking Day was the answer to all her prayers.

“Andrew,” Nicky whined, leaning against a table woozily.

Andrew didn’t answer. He stalked towards Neil, who now had his back against the bar and was nursing a fist full of bloody knuckles.

“Idiot,” Andrew snarled, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of Neil’s neck, pulling him down far enough to inspect the damage.

Neil grinned, mouth tugging against one rapidly swelling eye. “I’m fine,” he managed to say with a wince, then pressed a hand against a nasty looking gash that was oozing blood down the side of his face.

“Say that again and-”

“And what? You’ll punch me harder?” Neil gave him a ridiculous, shit-eating grin.

Neil was fine.

He was fine, he was fine, he was fine, but the adrenaline was still pulsing through Andrew’s veins and he didn’t know what to do with the anger, with the rage, with the _fear_.

“Andrew,” Nicky whined again.

“This?” Andrew growled, waving a hand at Neil’s face. “Is a problem.”

“For you, or me?”

“For everyone.”

Neil cocked his head. “Noted.”

“Andrew!”

Andrew finally turned around. “We’re leaving.”

“Finally,” Nicky moaned. There was blood dripping from his nose, and he wiped the back of his hand against it then cringed back pathetically. “Kevin?”

“Need another drink,” Kevin said, then somehow managed to shake the girl off his arm and stumble back over to the bar.

Andrew snagged the back of his shirt and yanked him back into place. “No. Nicky, get Aaron. We’re leaving. Now.”

Kevin gave him a pathetic little moan as Andrew yanked him along. He didn’t turn around, but he watched from the corner of his eye long enough to see Neil push off from the bar and follow them out.

The line to get in still snaked around the front of the bar, and Kevin tried to twist out of Andrew’s grip, drunkenly griping about how early it was, how he didn’t want to go back to the house, how it was only a little fight, not a big fight, c’mon Andrew, c’mon.

By the time they got back to the car, Andrew was seething, and he clicked the locks open and unceremoniously dumped Kevin in the back seat before closing him in again. Neil reached for the passenger handle, but Andrew just leaned against the car and watched with pleasure as a confused look flashed across Neil’s face.

“I’m fine,” Neil said, biting off the last word with a grimace. “Okay, I didn’t mean that. I’m…” He threw up his hands in frustration.

There was blood still sluggishly oozing from the cut at his temple. Some had dried over his cheek and neck, cracking with every movement he made.

“What happened.”

“Honestly? No idea.”

“And that?” Andrew’s eyes flicked to the cut on his head.

“Oh. One of the guys hit me with a beer bottle.” He gave a half-hearted little laugh. “It’s not so bad.”

Andrew had a very specific recollection of a very specific bottle that caused a lot more damage, but he blinked until the memories unglued from behind his eyes and pushed them all back down again, letting apathy eat at the edges until he almost didn’t care anymore.

Almost.

Neil bumped his sneaker against Andrew’s boot in a gesture that was almost an apology. “You already looked,” Neil said. “I’m not dying. We’re good.”

Nicky chose that moment to show up, followed by a very pissed off looking Aaron.

“In the car,” Andrew growled, hitting the locks open again.

Nicky crawled in without a word, but Aaron crossed his arms and glared at Andrew.

It was almost amusing enough for Andrew to laugh.

“Just because your boy toy gets himself hit–”

“Car,” Andrew cut him off.

“I’m serious, this sucks Andrew, we aren’t–”

“Car,” Andrew said again. “Now.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron ground out, then he followed Nicky in because of course he did. He was Aaron. He did what he was told like a good little pushover.

“Are you done glaring at me yet?” Neil asked from behind him.

Andrew turned back to him to see that ridiculous grin back on his face. “103% Josten,” he muttered, then circled around to the driver side and climbed in.

***

When they pulled up to the house, Aaron shoved Kevin out of the car and then stomped to the door and let himself in. Nicky and Kevin drunkenly swayed their way in the door.

Neil headed to the front steps and sat down, waiting for Andrew with a hand out, expecting a cigarette.

“Nope,” Andrew said, pushing past him.

Neil just sighed, then followed him in.

“Go wash your face. You look terrible.”

“You like it.”

“You wish.”

“Hot,” Nicky shouted from the kitchen.

“You were worried,” Neil said, quieter this time.

Andrew scoffed. “Hardly. ” He gestured towards Neil’s face again. “Seriously. You’re a mess.” _You were though_ , his traitor brain whispered. _You were, you were, you were._

One of Neil’s eyes was almost completely swollen shut now, and he reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, dried blood flaking off beneath his fingernails. His nose wrinkled as he studied it, then finally gave a little shrug. “Okay,” he finally said, then headed up the stairs without another word.

It took all of Andrew’s self-control not to follow him.

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” Nicky whined from the kitchen.

“Shut up,” Andrew said, then surveyed the living room. Kevin was already sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed and legs and arms flung in every drunken direction. Aaron was sitting in the arm chair with a full tumbler of whiskey. He pulled one leg to his chest and fixed Andrew with another glare. “Ass. Hole.” He bit off the end of each word, showing feral looking teeth.

Sometimes it was funny to watch his face contort like that. It was Andrew’s face, but softer. Andrew smiled knives.

Aaron was better than that.

There was still rage pulsing through him, looking for an outlet. He needed to hit, to tear, to bite, to viciously wound something or someone.

Instead, Andrew reached for the cigarettes in his pocket, turned around on his heel, and headed back outside, trusting that Neil would come find him when he was finished.

Even though they hadn’t hit the desperate sweltering heat of summer yet, the night air was mud-thick with humidity, and within moments, his shirt was sticking to his back. Andrew sat down on the steps and chain smoked through three cigarettes before the door quietly eased open again and Neil came to perch beside him.

“Now?” he asked quietly, reaching a hand out.

Andrew could hear his smile through the single word and for just a second, he imagined an alternate reality, a sudden, furious snap of the linear rope his life was supposed to follow, a divergence from the now where Neil Josten plagued his every waking moment.

He tapped a cigarette out and handed it over.

Neil wrapped fingers around it, then held it up to Andrew’s eye level, waiting until Andrew inevitably gave in.

He held out for a moment, then leaned forward until the cherry of his own lit against Neil’s and an orange ring of flame began to eat the paper, leaving crumbling ash in its stead.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said. He held the cigarette close to his face, studying it with a curiously somber gaze.

His eyes were so blue.

Andrew watched his own cigarette burn down to the filter, then he flicked it easily from his fingers, watching it join the other two butts that were already lying at the base of the stairs.

“I’m not your protector,” Andrew said. “I don’t care.”

He did care, and Neil knew that he cared, and Neil looked over and tried to flash a brilliant smile, but ended up wincing as it pulled at the swollen skin of his face.

“Idiot,” Andrew said.

“You mentioned.”

“Do you need stitches?”

“Would you drive me to the hospital if I did?”

 _Probably,_ Andrew thought. “No.”

Shrugging, Neil tried the smile again, slower this time. “I’m okay.”

Andrew didn’t miss the way his tongue tripped between the words, substituting _fine_ for _okay_ like it really made any difference at all. “I know,” he finally bit out.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren went by, and they listened to the sound of its wail fade into the city. Neil cupped his cigarette between his hands and breathed in.

Andrew watched the pulse at Neil’s neck flutter in time with his heartbeat.

Eventually, he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and headed inside, leaving Neil staring into the distance with his single cigarette that had long since burned out.

***

His anger had dissolved into a muted thing by the next day–but a tiger with teeth filed down was still a predator. Wymack was on his case from the moment he stepped onto the court and within minutes, Andrew chucked his racquet as hard as he could at his head, earning himself a trip to the weight room for the rest of practice.

Being alone was more helpful than being around the idiot Foxes, but it still didn’t do enough to thaw the rage.

There was no reason for him to be this upset. It was a bar fight. Neil was more than capable of taking care of himself and Andrew was more than capable of not giving a shit, but everytime he closed his eyes he saw Neil go down, everytime he closed his eyes he saw Neil’s bag lying on the ground, every time he closed his eyes he remembered what _alone_ felt like and remembered what _together_ felt like, and _alone_ was a lot less dangerous.

Andrew squeezed his eyes closed,forced the heavy weights up, and sucked a breath deep into his lungs. When he finally brought his arms back down again, Neil was standing just to his right.

“You’re supposed to have a spotter,” he said, with premium, grade-A Neil Josten bossiness.

“If Coach wanted me to have a spotter, he’d have sent someone in with me,” Andrew griped.

“Pretty sure Coach wasn’t expecting you to actually do anything in here.”

Andrew’s eyebrows rose, and he fixed his eyes on Neil, refusing to let himself so much as grunt as he bench pressed the 200 pound weight again.

“Point made, Hercules,” Neil deadpanned.

“Is it though?” The bar clanged as it hit the rack again, and Andrew sat forward, wiping an arm across his sweaty forehead. “Don’t see you leaving.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Neil grinned and headed over to one of the treadmills. “I got put in timeout too.”

Andrew almost asked what, and he almost asked why, he almost asked _did you do it to be with me_ , but he wasn’t going to give Neil any more reason to gloat. Instead, he grunted in response, then laid back down again and wrapped his hands around the heavy bar, trying to tune out the sound of the treadmill belt going faster and faster and faster and failing miserably.

Andrew moved from machine to machine, watching the clock tick down, burning out all of his anger until there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. Neil ran all the way until when their time ran out, and still continued running, even after Andrew picked up a rolled up towel from the water station and chucked it at his head.

Neil dodged it and finally slowed down. “Time?” he asked.

“Time,” Andrew grunted.

“Cool.”

Red curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. The entire right side of his face was a mottled green and yellow bruise, but his eyes were still icy blue. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Andrew’s eyes would snap open straight from a nightmare, palms sweaty, terror lacing every breath, heart in his throat. Sometimes, he would stare straight up at the ceiling and think of blue.

“Coming?”

Andrew blinked and Neil was already by the door, head cocked.

“The others are going out for drinks tonight,” Neil said, like they’d been having some sort of casual conversation and this wasn’t a completely new train of thought.

“And that is information that I care about, why?” Andrew asked, following him out the door and down the hall.

“Because they’ll be gone. And I won’t be.”

 _Empty room_ hung between them, but Neil shut his mouth before he could say the words.

“And that is information I care about, why?” Andrew said again.

Neil’s smile grew. He didn’t say anything else, just turned left at the locker room and disappeared behind a locked shower stall.

Love was supposed to be tangible–a thing of expression, a moment of touch or tenderness, a softly spoken _I love you._

Andrew didn’t love anything–that was a word that didn’t exist in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, though, he didn’t _hate_ Neil.

Dangerous.

***

The dorm room was loud. Nicky and Aaron were completely enthralled by some new drag racing game, so of course with every squeal of tires came an equally obnoxious squeal of voices as they leaned left and right and left again, white knuckled fingers gripping plastic controllers.

It was stunningly pathetic.

Kevin was watching Exy in the kitchen, computer out on the small table, one knee pulled to his chest, notebook out with scribbled notes in every margin. His headphones were fit tightly around his ears, but he kept handing out not-so-subtle glares towards the living room with every chance he had.

Andrew grabbed a beer from the fridge, then popped it open on the kitchen cabinet and flicked the top at Kevin’s head. “You have a room.”

“This is my dorm too,” Kevin muttered, pushing the headphones off his ears.

The game he was watching was loud enough that Andrew could hear the crackle of it over the living room chaos.

“I should be able to sit in the kitchen and study.”

Andrew walked over, snagged one side of his headphones and then let go, grinning as it smacked into the side of Kevin’s head.

“Oh, fuck you too,” Kevin muttered, flipping him off and turning back to his computer screen.

Andrew stood at his shoulder, gulped down the entirety of his beer, then flung it at the recycling bin that sat near the garbage. It clanged off the back and dropped right in. “Score,” he bragged.

No one was listening.

His eyes flicked to the microwave clock which read 8:49 PM. Foxes were going for drinks at 8PM. Andrew tacked on 30 minutes to that for their incredibly honed sloth-like abilities. He’d been trying to add another 20 because he wanted to see Neil squirm.

He wanted to think about Neil squirm.

At some point in the last few hours, anger had turned into something else, sliding hot down his throat and settling deep in his gut. _I’m not your answer_ , he’d said once on the rooftop as the sun began to set.

The line between _answer_ and _question_ had begun to blur far before that, and was continuing to blur with every breath he took. Andrew swallowed hard, then palmed the pocket of his jeans, feeling for his cigarettes. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.

No one even turned around.

***

Neil had left the door unlocked, and didn’t even look up from his desk when Andrew walked in.

“Beer in the fridge,” he called, holding up a hand with his pointer finger extended.

One minute.

One minute until he was done.

One minute until he turned around.

One minute until Andrew wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him close and pressed his lips against Neil’s hard enough that his teeth cut against skin.

One minute until _together_ was more important than _alone_.

Andrew went for the beer, leaned against the counter, and watched the way Neil hunched over his desk, pencil gripped tightly between long fingers, knee jiggling at his side because he always had to move, of course he had to move, rabbits know nothing but running.

 _He’s not a rabbit anymore._ Andrew considered that for a moment, and drank this beer even faster than the last.

One minute turned into two turned into six and finally Neil smacked the pencil down and slid out of his chair to face Andrew.

“Shit. Sorry, that last assignment sucked.”

“Easier not to care, Neil.”

Neil eyed him, then brushed past to grab his own beer from the fridge. “You care.”

“No. I don’t.”

“You do,” he said earnestly. “You have a 3.8 GPA. I don’t even know what half of your course names mean. Sociology of Law?”

“Stalker,” Andrew muttered. “Eidetic memory. Easy to pass a class.”

“Pretty sure you have to actually listen to the lectures or read the assignments, in some cases both, for that memory to actually be of use.”

Andrew pushed him back into the fridge and kissed him hard because it was the only way to get him to shut up, because it’s what Neil wanted, because it’s what _he_ wanted, because there was no one else around and Andrew was desperate to taste Neil, and touch Neil, and remind himself that Neil was not going to run.

Neil reached a hand up but it hovered there, right near Andrew’s face, unwavering and unflinching loyalty that meant more to Andrew than anything else ever would.

“Hair,” he grunted against Neil’s lips.

Neil fisted a hand in his hair for just long enough to pull Andrew away. “Lights,” he murmured, pupils already blown.

Andrew wanted to say _no_. He wanted to say _fuck you_ , he wanted to say _never leave me_ , he wanted to say _I hate you doesn’t meant I hate you it means something so much more._

Instead, he nodded in silence, and pushed back enough that Neil could duck under his arm and walk over to the lightswitch by the door.

The room went back, and Andrew blinked a few times, eyes adjusting as Neil wandered back to him, slipping underneath his arm once again and settling back against the fridge. “Sorry,” he murmured, leaning forward and nosing at Andrew’s neck.

Neil was everything, and Andrew chased him down, entire body tight want, entire body screaming that this was okay, that this was fine, that this was how it should be.

Neil never took. Andrew was a black hole and Neil refused to see the danger.

For just a minute, there was nothing but the taste of Neil’s mouth and the warmth of Neil’s hand in his hair.

And suddenly Andrew wanted _more_.

This was something that shouldn’t happen. This was something that shouldn't be fine.

This was something he’d unknowingly decided in the moment that some asshole at Eden’s broke a bottle against Neil’s face, in the moment that Neil sank into the passenger seat of his car, in the moment that Neil reached across the steps for a cigarette with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist.

Andrew reached for Neil’s wrist and grabbed tight, slowly bringing Neil’s hand down underneath his own shirt to press against the skin of his stomach.

“Yes,” he murmured against Neil’s lips, voice full of sand.

Neil’s fingers tightened, his eyes widened in surprise, but they stayed locked on Andrew’s, not looking down, not looking away. Slowly, his hand opened, the palm of his hand warm against Andrew’s skin. Then his fingers were running just over the waistband of Andrew’s jeans, rubbing against his hip bone and dipping down past the button, almost–

Andrew grabbed his wrist again and Neil froze, entire body tense and unmoving.

Andrew wanted this. His skin was buzzing with anticipation, every breath Neil took sent shivers down his spine, he was desperate to be touched, to be wanted, to be...

Neil hovered there, still waiting, and Andrew swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said slowly, mouth moving sluggishly around each syllable.

Neil’s hand relaxed against him again, and Andrew reached down, fingers unhooking the button on his jeans.

“Okay,” he forced out again, past a throat swollen with something that tasted like fear.

Neil didn’t look down, and Andrew focused on blue, the blue that tore him from nightmares, the blue that was _home_.

Andrew pressed against Neil’s mouth again, drawing a gasp from his lips, relishing every little inhalation Neil made.

And Neil…

Neil’s fingers pushed lower, underneath the waistband of Andrew’s briefs now, brushing even lower. Neil wasn’t gentle. Neil wasn’t tentative.

Neil was Neil.

Arousal pooled thick in Andrew’s belly, and the moment Neil’s fingers wrapped around him, Andrew bit down on a sound that threatened to escape his throat and focused all his attention on kissing Neil, on tasting Neil, on chasing something that he wasn’t supposed to be allowed to have.

Neil’s eyes were still open, still watching Andrew’s with every pump of his hand, still not looking down, and Andrew tried to keep watching. He lost himself in icy blue, he lost himself in _together_ , and Neil pulled away just far enough to lick a stripe up the side of Andrew’s throat.

Andrew closed his eyes.

It was a moment later, or a minute, or a century, when Andrew drew a breath in again. His eyes finally flicked open again, and Neil was watching him, grin back in place as he drew out his hand and wiped it gracelessly against Andrew’s black shirt.

Andrew had no words yet, no way to say _I know what you are doing_ , no way to say _I remember that_ , no way to say _idiot_ , no way to say _thank you_.

“Are you still mad at me?” Neil murmured, because Neil Josten never knew when to shut up.

Andrew didn’t have words for that either though, so he stayed silent and focused on breathing.

Neil didn’t seem to mind. He ducked back under Andrew’s arm and turned to the sink, cutting on the water as he washed his hands.

“No,” Andrew managed to grind out.

“Cigarette,” Neil answered in response, then brushed past Andrew and headed back to his desk where he shoved the books to the side, opened the window, and perched on top.

Andrew stayed against the fridge for a long moment, everything fuzzing at the edges. Finally, he pushed away again and buttoned his jeans. He could still feel Neil’s hand against his skin, and it didn’t bother him like he thought it should.

Andrew pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tossed them at Neil who caught them easily.

“Thanks,” he said as Andrew headed towards the door.

“Junkie,” Andrew returned.

It meant _I hate you._

It meant _together._

It meant _more_.

**Author's Note:**

> I like talking to people so....  
> Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/agentcoop1)  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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